


Let Them Eat Cake

by knowtheway



Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, Religion Kink, Rough Sex, Zelda processes inner turmoil through sex, excuse for them to fuck on a table, nothing to do with cake, pre-Caligari spell, purely self-indulgent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-04
Updated: 2019-10-04
Packaged: 2020-11-23 03:47:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20885612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knowtheway/pseuds/knowtheway
Summary: It was half past the hour Hilda had promised to be prepared with “more cakes than a king could demand” for her and Faustus to taste and she was nowhere to be seen. Hilda was a daft, batty twit - at times - but her sister was hardly ever late. It would be just her luck that she’d start the habit now. Of all the days, Zelda thinks, glaring out the window, puffing on her third consecutive cigarette of the past ten minutes.





	Let Them Eat Cake

**Author's Note:**

> This took far longer to write than I’d ever care to admit, so could there be cohesion issues? Definitely. But did I have to post it today or risk going mad? Absolutely.
> 
> Anyway - missing scene from 02x04, from just before Zelda storms Dr. Cerebus’ in search of Hilda. Thanks for reading!

It was half past the hour Hilda had promised to be prepared with “more cakes than a king could demand” for her and Faustus to taste and she was nowhere to be seen. Hilda was a daft, batty twit - at times - but her sister was hardly ever late. It would be just her luck that she’d start the habit now.  _Of_ _all_ _the_ _days_ , Zelda thinks, glaring out the window, puffing on her third consecutive cigarette of the past ten minutes.

Faustus is sat at the table, idly tapping his nails, noticeably bored but otherwise unbothered. Which does nothing to ease her anxiety, nor does the expectant look he gives when he notices she’s turned around. 

The past several days had brought her more than a fair share of stress. She’d been to visit Leticia the afternoon before and was dismayed to find that her nightdaughter was running a fever, which Desmelda had failed to even notice. After checking her over, brewing a quick remedy, and writing detailed instructions - with strict reminding that Zelda be contacted immediately should Letty’s condition change - she had reluctantly kissed her goodbye so that she could meet the child’s unaware father, and her future husband, for an afternoon appointment. 

Her confidence in Desmelda shaken, it hadn’t helped at all to find that Judas was suffering from the same ailment and Prudence, Satan bless the child, hadn’t the faintest idea of how to care for an ill babe. It would be a far less complicated task to ensure Judas and Leticia were healthy and safe if they were in the same place, but she’d made certain that wasn’t possible, hadn’t she? She’d guaranteed that, like everything else in her life, she would forever be torn between two worlds and obligations. 

Overwhelmed and flustered - she’d sent Prudence away, snapping at Faustus when he objected, reminding him that she had classes to attend and sleep to catch up on - and that the value of health was equal among all his children. So he allowed it, though she had expected him to challenge her again once Prudence departed - to provide some weak excuse that his daughter become better versed in ‘feminine’ practices such as child rearing for her own good in the future. 

But he didn’t. Barely even bristled. Instead, he’d removed his coat and cradled his son in his arms while Zelda tended to him. He’d been patient and gentle and she became all-too-aware that their mutual concern for the child far-too-closely resembled that of a mother and father, of a genuine family unit. He’d even had the babe sleep in his bed chambers that night and the behavior startled her in such a way that it stirred something inside her she’d desperately been trying to avoid.

It would be so much easier if he’d just stop being so damn helpful. He’d been present for nearly every mundane task concerning their upcoming wedding and - for a man so talented at delegating to others - his insistence on playing the role of a supportive fiancé was starting to become truly bothersome. She could remain secure in her decision to hide Leticia away if he stayed playing the role of an obvious selfish bastard. That she could understand, that she could anticipate and work around with ease. But, while he was still far from a benevolent and just leader, he was certainly showing a side of himself that Zelda hadn’t foreseen in the slightest. And it was buggering the absolute heaven out of her.

She looks at him now, his lips tugged into a half smile, and there’s a part of her that thinks surely the imposition of Hilda not delivering on her promise will have sparked some of the irritation from him that she’s so accustomed to. Surely, this will have returned them to familiar grounds. So, she addresses him with a subdued tone, ready to appease - to twist the narrative back where she feels comfortable. “I’m sorry, your Excellency, if I had known this would be such a waste of your time...”

“Zelda,” he interrupts with a wave of his hand, looking amused. “There’s no need for all of that. We chose this afternoon because I had no other obligations, remember?”

She huffs out a sigh. _So_ _much_ _for_ _that_. “Even still,” and she turns back towards the window, stubbing out the last embers of her cigarette in the ashtray on the counter. “If my sister gives me her word, I expect her to keep it.”

He lets out a low chuckle and rises to his feet while she continues.

“And if this is any indication of Hilda’s attitude towards our wedding, I should start searching now for a new maid of dishonor,” she tensely reaches for another cigarette, but Faustus stops her, putting a hand over hers and letting his other rest gently over her hip.

“Zelda darling, there is plenty of time left for cake selections and invites and table decors... You needn’t be this tightly wound, hm?” he brings her hand to his mouth and kisses it quickly.

She presses her lips together and furrows her brow at the gesture. “What’s got you in such an agreeable state?”

He laughs, sliding his arms around her to properly encircle her waist. “Can’t I enjoy some time with my bride-to-be?”

“I’ve never known you to take joy in much of anything,” she counters, though she can’t help leaning into his embrace.

He laughs again, burying his face into her hair. “Now, I know that’s not true,” he murmurs, pressing his lips to her temple, “to say I’ve never taken pleasure in our time together... ”

“Pleasure,” she says, tilting her head as he slides his lips down her neck, “is quite different from joy.”

“Hm,” his arms snake tight around her and pulls her flush against him, “perhaps you’re right. But time well spent nonetheless, wouldn’t you agree?”

Now here’s familiar ground. And with how taught she currently is, it’s also maybe just what she needs.

So she lets him smooth his hands over her stomach, reaches her arm up to hook around his neck as his lips run over her skin. “I’ll take that as a yes,” he chuckles, slowly untucking her blouse from her skirt.

He makes quick work undoing the first few buttons before she lets herself remember the practicalities of their current location, halting his hands gently with hers. “My sister could be here any minute,” she says, her voice already embarrassingly thready.

“Well,” he smirks against her skin, “how lucky I am to know just how to remedy that.”

With a wave of his hand, a hazy energy cascades over the walls, surrounding them in a rather efficient cloaking spell. It’s one she recognizes from what feels like ages ago - from when they were young and had a proclivity for displays of mutual admiration in... not altogether private spaces. 

Turning in his arms, she looks up at him seductively, “Resorting to old tricks, your Excellency?”

He smirks. “What is it the mortals say? ‘If it ain’t broke... ?’“

She curls her fingers around his tie, pulling his face down towards hers. “Indeed,” she whispers against his lips and he claims her mouth with a soft “mmm.”

The next few moments are a frenzied race to divest each other of their clothes - her blouse flies to the floor along with his jacket and vest and his hands reach up under her skirt to grab roughly at her knickers, his mouth sucking hard at her nipples through the fabric of her bodice. She’s profanely wet, her cunt throbbing and aching for him in a far more desperate way than she’d care to admit. Every tension and doubt from the past week winds tight in her mind and fuels her frantic grappling at his belt in an attempt to quell any further delays of him being inside her, of fucking all her worries into non-existence.

She’s just finished loosening the buckle of his belt when he lifts her suddenly and carries her over to the table. He lays her down softly, knocking the bowl of decorative fruit to the floor without a single care and not even a breath passes between them before he slides his tongue into her mouth. She moans, grabbing tight onto his shoulders until her nails pierce the stiff fabric of his shirt. He responds by laying wet, hot kisses across her neck and collarbone.

“Zelda, sweetheart,” he murmurs into her chest, shoving his hand between her thighs to stroke her now exposed cunt, her hips bucking as a strangled whimper escapes her lips. “You delicious little thing,” he breathes, kissing his way down her stomach and bunching her skirt up around her hips.

“Faustus,” she gasps, her fingers sliding into his hair, “Darling, please.”

He pauses to look back up and kisses her, his fingers rubbing soft circles over her aching clit. “What is it you want, my dear? What does my good girl need, hm?”

She pants, “But I haven’t been good.” The words come out before she can even realize she’s said them. 

“Oh?” he raises an eyebrow with a devilish grin. “Is that so?”

She hesitates, not having intended for things to take this kind of turn, but deciding to find it serendipitous as it will undoubtedly settle them back into a rhythm she can breathe a bit easier in. If she can just steer them back into their usual roles - even for a moment, all will make sense again, she’s sure if it. So she casts her eyes downward, biting her lip, whispering with a girlish innocence, “Yes, I...  _confess_ I haven’t been serving the Dark Lord as best I should, Father,” and raises her hips slightly into his touch.

His face darkens and she knows he’s caught on by the way he applies the slightest bit more pressure, teasing through her folds. “Is that right, my dear? Have you... strayed from the path of night? Do you need my,” he inserts two fingers inside her and she gasps, “_guidance_ once again?”

Her mouth parted, she feels her eyes become heavy with need, “Yes, your Excellency. Please... will you help me to do better?”

The noise he makes is primal, animalistic and he abruptly withdraws his hand to grab around her thighs and pull her to the edge of the table. It takes her by such surprise that her mouth falls open soundlessly and her hand drapes instinctively atop her stomach.

Leaning over her, he rests his hand next to her head, standing between her legs and breathing deeply. “First things first, sister - the Dark Lord, above all else, commands your loyalty. Loyalty, among other things, means honesty. And honesty means delivering on promises to your high priest.”

Her eyes widen slightly as her heart begins to race. She’s not sure where he’s going with this, but the pure desire in his gaze urges her to continue playing her part. “Promises, Father?” 

“Mmm, yes,” his mouth twitches, “I  was invited here for a ‘tasting,’ was I not?” 

Oh, Satan. 

She nods silently.

“Then,” he smirks, leaning down to brush his lips over her chest, “It would behoove you,” trailing along her abdomen now, “to provide said tasting,” he kneels to the floor between her legs, “as it pleases me.”

Her breaths are shamefully shallow when she looks down at him, a smug satisfaction on his face as he licks his lower lip, and the shakiness of her voice betrays any semblance of resolve she hoped to have, “What would please you most, your Excellency?”

His low chuckle echoes in her ears, but is instantly muffled by her high-pitched whine as he licks a teasing stripe over her slick cunt. “I think this is a perfectly divine selection here. Do join me in... enjoying it.”

Then his mouth is on her, working her over with an expertise afforded only to those with years of practice and oh, it’s good. So good that she can almost get lost completely and forget everything in her mind that’s been screaming she’s making the wrong choice - about him, about Leticia... about Edward.

All at once, she recalls that this isn’t the first time they’ve been in this exact predicament. Edward had returned home earlier than expected once in their youth and found them in the very same position they were now (except, she remembers, the roles were reversed at the time). The fallout had been explosive, Edward all but demanding Faustus’ head and she had wound up fainting from the stress of trying to pull them apart. They’d remained at odds ever since and a creeping sense of guilt starts to build within her - tells her that their lifelong opposition may have been because of her, too. Just like everything els- ... no.  _No_ , she tells herself, this is exactly what she’s trying to escape from and right now, her fiancé is on his knees, eating her out for his own enjoyment and she bloody well isn’t going to let whatever else spoil it.

So she cants her hips, hears him hum softly into her in response and then three fingers are inside her, pumping roughly in and out while his tongue swirls around clit and oh... oh  _Satan_ _yes_ ... She can feel everything else slip away into a distant abyss as her body buzzes with pleasure. A scream rips from her throat beyond her control, and then she’s coming - thighs shaking and hand squeezed tightly over her husband’s as it rests on her stomach. 

It takes a few moments for things to come back into focus and when they do, he’s hovering over her again, pressing his lips to hers and claiming her mouth as hard and fervent as he did her pussy. 

“Delicious,” he whispers, kissing down her jaw and though she’s just climaxed to within an inch of her life, her cunt pulses in response.

“Is my high priest pleased, then?” she says breathlessly.

His laugh is dark, seductive. “Yes, indeed. But I am rather insatiable, as you well know. And diligent... “

To that, she sits up, easing him back into a standing position and then immediately reaching for the zip of his trousers. “Diligent, I assume, in ensuring your charges are appropriately reprimanded for their sins?”

She looks up at him chastely and doesn’t miss the way his lip twitches nor the twisted glee forming behind his eyes.

“Quite right,” he says low, watching her with intensity. She smiles softly and then guides his straining cock from his trousers, sliding her hand up his shaft and then rolling her thumb over the head. His breathing becomes noticeably deeper, and his hand comes up to cup her cheek, stroking along her jaw until his fingers draw over the curve of her lips. She parts her mouth and when the pad of his thumb glides across the top of her tongue, she can’t help but to suck it into her mouth as she gently squeezes his cock.

His eyes are almost feral and his voice is barely steady, but he manages to maintain some authority as he speaks, “And has my beautiful girl atoned for her errant ways now?”

She shakes her head coyly, freeing her mouth with a pop, “No, Father. I still need you. Please... ”

And she’s not even effectuating - this is the most free she’s felt in days and by Satan if she’s going to just let it pass that quickly. Faustus has been many things to her - but if he’s ever served a consistent purpose, it was to escape. For however long she could manage. And, judging by the hungry grin on his face, he seems just as keen as her to continue such a fine tradition.

“Then let me not waste time,” he says in a casual tone that betrays the sudden, rough grasping at her backside. Pulling her up against him by her arse, he smacks his hand down over her plump, exposed flesh once she’s standing and grunts in approval when she whimpers.

“Shall I put you over my knee?” his gruff voice against her neck combined with the suggestion makes her noticeably shiver and he laughs softly. “Mmm no, you’d enjoy that far too much.”

She shudders, locking eyes with him and whispers, “Do with me whatever you see fit.”

He squeezes her ass again, breath erratic as he stares into her eyes, seeming to weigh his options with devilish delight. 

Then - without warning, he turns her violently so that she falls into the table, her hands smacking down onto the surface to brace herself. She hears him lower his trousers, feels him step between her legs, and gasps when he teases the head of his cock at her entrance before thrusting hard inside her. It’s good, and rough, and just the right amount of mind numbing. She whimpers with each brutal jerk of his hips and hears how obscenely wet she is by the sound of his slicked cock fucking in and out of her. “Perhaps this will help the message sink in, don’t you think, darling?”

“Harder,” she begs, and his nails dig deep into her hips, “Yes... Teach me a lesson, your Excellency.”

“Is that what you need, my bad girl?” the gravely tone of his voice makes a shiver run over her skin and her cunt clench tight around his cock. “You need reminding of your place?”

“Yes,” she says breathlessly, “please. Remind me, Father. Mark me... make me yours.” She gasps as he abruptly pulls at her thigh, pushing her knee up onto the table so that she’s spread wider for him - so that he can fuck her as hard as she deserves. His strong hands latch onto her, keeping her in place as he slams into her, and she scrabbles at the table, scratching into the surface to anchor herself in place. 

She looks at him desperately over her shoulder - his face giving away that he’s far more wrecked than he would ever let on, and she bites her lip, eyes fluttering closed. “Faus-... oh, fuck... fuck me.”

He growls, roughly grabbing a fistful of her hair and tugging her head to the side so he can sink his teeth into her neck. She whimpers, leaning into it, but then quickly turns her face to crash her mouth to his. It’s messy - his hands everywhere, their lips and teeth closing over any bit of flesh they can get to. She can feel the pure want radiating from his body - the barely contained beast within on the brink of breaking through its restraints - and oh, how she wants to unleash it. Wants him to punish her, consume her, breathe fire into her so that she turns to ash and rises anew.

“My wicked little slut,” he grunts, “See what you do to me? Make me lose control... “

“I’m sorry, Father,” she pants, looking back at him with soft eyes, feigning shame, “I don’t mean to be bad.”

His eyes blacken in response and he snakes his arms around her torso, yanking her up so that her back is flush against his chest. “Good thing I know just what to do with dirty little whores like you, then, hm?” 

“Yes,” she nods frantically, his breath hot against her ear, and she all but screams as she feels his hand shove harshly between her thighs. Satan yes, this is exactly what she needs, exactly what will free her of all this insufferable tension and doubt. 

Her hand is clamped around his wrist as his fingers rub viciously over her clit. She gasps desperately for air, feels herself clench tight around him, edging so close to her release she can barely breathe. She starts to flutter around him and then he’s whispering harsh and commanding in her ear, “That’s it, you exquisite thing... “ pounding into her so hard it hurts, “Be a good girl for once and come on your high priest’s cock.”

Her head falls back onto his shoulder as she cries out, her body shaking and shuddering as she bursts in ecstasy. Faustus whispers filthy nothings into her ear as she rides it out, every nerve in her body wrung tight with pleasure.

As it ebbs away, she feels his arms wrap firmly around her and it doesn’t take him more than three additional thrusts before he comes, moaning her name into her neck.

She sweeps her hair from her face once he finishes and takes note of how he softens his embrace, how he kisses her delicately and how feather light his touch becomes. As if she’s a fragile, priceless possession... and it’s that very gesture that pulls back into her current reality. The one where she’s lied to her future husband about his newborn daughter, accepted his hand in marriage for her own ambitions and self-interest, ignored her brother’s warnings that are starting to feel less about the dangers of Faustus and more about her. Now here she is in her childhood home being held by someone she once upon a time, in a faraway corner of her mind, may have... just possibly... cared for. And maybe, just possibly, he cared for her too? As much as she wants to shake the thought from her mind, too many memories are overwhelming her at once and he’s stroking her arm so sweetly and she’s feeling too many ripples of the couple they once were wash over her, invading and aggressive...

So it’s not the ache in her thighs, nor the sting of the scratches on her skin that causes it, but rather the softly murmured endearment against her shoulder that breaks her internal levy and a flood of warm tears starts to flow rapidly down her face.

He doesn’t notice at first and she tries desperately to hide it, to pull herself together while she smoothes down her skirt, but a sudden sharp inhale gives her away.

“Zelda?” he asks suddenly, finishing the fastening of his trousers.

She doesn’t answer, squeezes her eyes shut, and quickly brings her hand up in a futile attempt to wipe away her tears.

“ _Zelda_ ,” he repeats firmly, hooking his hand around her arm and turning her gently to face him. 

She doesn’t look at him, but she can feel the way his eyes roam over her and it rips at her defenses like nothing else has before. She hates it, hates that she’s made herself this vulnerable, and she silently starts cursing Hilda for allowing the circumstances to have her in such a state to even happen.

“Have I hurt you?” he seems to say it more from confusion than concern and it makes her feel slightly less exposed, though the tears continue to fall.

“No,” she shakes her head, crossing her arms over herself and doing anything possible to not meet his gaze as he steps in closer to her.

“Then wh-... Zelda look at me,” and when she makes no move to comply, he softly grasps her chin and tilts her face towards his.

How pitiful she must look judging by the expression on his face - he might as well have happened upon a wounded animal.Sliding his hand across her face to cup her cheek, his thumb wipes away one of the fresh tears and the small bit of resolve she’d started to build crumbles completely. It’s far too tender a gesture, feels largely unfair, and the sob that escapes her lips to accompany him suddenly folding her into his arms and softly stroking her hair reflects just how absolutely shattered she is. 

Satan below, why... _why_ was he doing this to her? She’d spent the past two centuries mastering the game of Faustus Blackwood - of knowing just what to say and do to bend him to her will, so why was he now so insistent on changing the terms?

“Do you still want to marry me?” he asks suddenly.

Her head shoots up. “Yes,” her answer would’ve been the same regardless, but it surprises even her how quickly she said it. She takes a deep breath to gather herself, rests her hands on his chest and repeats, “_Yes_, of course I do.”

“I... “ he pauses, clearly hesitant to say the words, “I know you and Edward were very close. I remember how much his approval meant to you and if you doubt-“

“It’s not to do with my brother, Faustus,” she interrupts, though she knows that’s not entirely truthful . She just can’t possibly explain it right now because it’s not  _just_ Edward - it’s also the baby and Sabrina and the anxiety of being on the precipice of having all she’s ever wanted in life... 

Perhaps she imagines it, but something that looks far too similar to relief flickers over his face, though he continues to gaze quizzically into her eyes. “Well then what is it, darling?”

“I... I don’t know.” Another lie, but it will have to do. “I’m loathe to say it, but I... I do feel a touch overwhelmed.”

He smiles, letting out a small sigh of relief, and guilt settles heavy in her chest again. “Yes, I should have realized sooner. I’ve asked too much of you, dearest... the wedding, Judas, the Academy... of course you’d be overwhelmed.”

She smiles back, tears still glistening in her eyes, and he kisses her - soft and earnest. “I’ll get you some helping hands, my love, you needn’t worry.”

She nods, leaning her head against his shoulder as his arms encircle her waist, and turning her face into his chest to keep herself from getting swept away in her emotions once again. He strokes her hair, “Starting first with um... wedding cakes, it seems,” he smiles to himself and she huffs out a small laugh.

“Thank you, darling,” she whispers, though inside she’s still breaking.

“Of course,” he says, “The Dark Lord wants you by my side. And so do I.”

Has it been fair of her not to trust him when _she’s_ the one who’s plainly deceived him this whole time? She’s not blind nor stupid enough to think Faustus a saint - part of what always drew her to him was his mastery of manipulation and power - but were they not cut from the same cloth? And did that not oblige a vow of honesty...at the very least between each other? Had she already broken something that was perfectly capable of being whole?

She’s never been more unsure and it terrifies her. It’s something she’ll discuss with Hilda when she finds her - perhaps after a trip to Cain pit, she’s still deciding. But for now - she’ll rest in his arms, listening to the soft thump of his heartbeat and make herself believe that she can fix this. That she can have her cake and eat it, too.

**Author's Note:**

> Ugh, yeah. I hate that last line, too, but I hope the rest was enjoyable (and perhaps just on the edge of believable, if I’ve gotten it right). Thanks again for reading!


End file.
